The Darkest Day
I wake in the darkness One side of my face swollen from the beatings It hurts when I breathe I think my fingers are broken Abba, Abba, I’d rather the bitter cup of hemlock than this How much longer will they have their way? I heard his screams during the night A nightmare for every piece of silver – that bloodied money I just don’t get it He can bring people back from the dead He can calm a storm. What’s happening here? What have I done? Ecce Homo. Pilate. A thug in a smart suit. Representative of power and might, or so he thinks. Just a puppet in truth. When I look at him, I see the puppet master The one holding his strings Only he has no idea, it is so sad to see. No, no…he looked right into my soul I saw him with the cross beam, hardly recognisable His face beaten out of shape But his eyes; piercing, full of forgiveness no anger or retribution I don’t deserve that; how dare he, how can he forgive me. I can’t ...